


The Road to 19 Years Later

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon, F/M, Post Deathly Hallows, Pre and post epilogue, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:23:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over. Voldemort is dead, and despite all that had happened, it was to Harry's surprise as much as anyone else's that he lived to see his life pass him by.<br/>Some made it to the end, and some didn't. Harry did, even though he thought he wouldn't and because of it, would spend the rest of his life wondering why.<br/>Because in the end, everyone has an ending- but for the life he had had, lucky for Harry Potter that it was a happy one.<br/>Not everyone made it to Kings Cross that day- but this is the story of those who did.<br/>This is the road to 19 years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

So here's the final toast we raise to you, dear friend

Good times will never be the same, and our thoughts still remain

We'll hold you in our hearts forever and a day

And we'll never be the same

so the last toast that we raise goes to you.

-The Final Toast, Hawk Nelson

...

When I look at the world, everywhere and in everyone there is an ending.

A sparkling conclusion, an eclipsing finale- the final sunset of life in this last chapter of the story. There is death in everyone and in everything and even the strongest among us are not exempt from Death's terrible snatching. His dirty hands, his twitching fingers will one day come for us all.

But in every conclusion, (happy or no, satisfying or not) there are leftovers, the keen few who remain behind when their world falls and parents die and a castle (a school) burns to the ground. There are always survivors; always heroes and villains and empty-hearted civilians left behind.

Death comes for every man, no matter his status, his actions, his beliefs or failing ideology. Death doesn't care for your pleading, for your hopeless human crying. He is stoic, he is strong. He has seen people like you before, and knows that a silent tongue and warm hands can pry even the most resilient man from his hiding place. Knows the right words to untie his hands from the sand and undo the vines tethering him to earth to carry him gently away. Death comes to all, and none will escape his sentence.

But Death will always come too soon for the unlucky and the unfortunate, the eternally early and everlastingly late being that he is, but just the same for the lucky ones who stay behind. Every man must meet death, and every soul must see justice.

Every beginning has an end. To every climax there's a resolution.

It's simple, really- when you think about it. All in all, it's one life in this time and place, in this story at the beginning of the end. One boy. A complex concoction of stories and lives and ten years of anxious waiting. One story that has long since reached its end.

The day has arrived: the moment when the pivotal problem was solved, the enemy defeated and the world saved. The day (the night, the morning) the child hero Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all. Died in a forest at the hand of his enemy only to come back even more victorious than before.

But then again, there's also the first breath of peace and rest. The first bout of many in this infamous beginning of the end.

And for this story, for this ending, it was a repaired wand, a dead Headmaster or two and a thundering applause. It was Harry, Ron and Hermione, extra cast at this point- stationary and confused and lost, stunned in their well-earned congratulations. Seventeen with the world finally, finally lifted off their shoulders. Then, Harry- the seven chanced escapee- exhaling a final, noteworthy quote, breathing in a sunrise from the eastern windows with the hope of a new day on his lips.

There was an ending, then a beginning, because the two follow one another like fate whether you live to see it for yourself or not. They got up that day, (the Weasley's, the Granger's, the Potter's) and relived that terrible, terrible night with aching bones and bruised hearts, gathered up their Gryffindor courage and left that office and that school, (leaving those soulless bodies and fears behind) forgetting that day and moving forward.

There was a walk to the Hogsmeade station, trunks and owls and coffins held aloft and loaded into the carriages. There was silence, and a train and a miserable trip back home.

I guess it made sense that Fred Weasley should be taken home on the Hogwarts Express, even post-mortem. Taken home on the train after all this time.

But the ride back was solemn, the back carriage was filled with the empty remains of friends, siblings, parents. Lupin, Colin, Fred, Tonks. Empty eyes and a hollow body awaiting burial, a final goodbye.

There was Kings Cross and then a Burrow, (an extra bed added for a homeless orphan), an empty bed waiting in another. Silence, and waiting, and guilty laughter came in the days to come before silence descended once more.

And no one could laugh when they were dead.

And George didn't smile. Hadn't since. Nothing was funny enough in the whole wide world to be happy now that his twin was gone for good.

...

In the days to come, those who had left home for safer shores returned- they dusted off their shelves and shook out their rugs, lined up the potions to repair their broken bones and bruised hearts on their nightstands.

Some went on the run, those who had lost the war and still had everything to lose- Death Eaters and werewolves and creatures of the night- some ran in the hopes of somehow escaping the punishment they were due. Now that Voldemort was dead, their chances of survival were little to none- there was no fear stimulating their reign any longer. And without fear, without that control they were nothing and they knew it.

Others sat in silence, they didn't do much at all. These people had lost someone- and silence seemed the right price to pay for their grief. For their sadness, they retreated into themselves and didn't dare return. They sat with family, with friends who had lost someone too, cold cups of tea at their elbow because even the worst company is better than silence, and silence was reality now that their loved ones were gone.

Others, of course, sat in quite another manner- in stunned relief. They had survived with most of themselves intact. They carried the guilt too though- why them and not me? Why some and not others? Why was there death and destruction waiting for other's families and not for mine?

They felt relief, but they felt guilty for it. In some matter of thinking, they were glad it had happened that way.

Better them than me, they thought. In fact, I'm glad it was them and not me.

In those days after the war, no one had the answers. No one knew why. All the did know was that this nothingness was the price to pay for peace- this guilt, pain and fear was the true cost of war. It always came with a price they couldn't pay.

No matter their state, all had someplace to go- all were on a pilgrimage back to a safe place where people loved them and they had once belonged.

The real question was if they still did belong- because this future was so silent- so different than the past that it was difficult to distinguish up from down, right from wrong.

The returned to a Burrow, to a mansion. To a ramshackle house in the middle of a Muggle cul-de-sac. They sat down on the couch they had once loved, a chair they had once found comfort in, but it was the case no longer- everything was hard and painful and cold. Everything was grey and and miserable and everyone who made it out of the war was numb.

They returned to their families. To their houses, and most importantly, they tried to come back into themselves like they hadn't for five years running.

The pubs sat empty; Diagon Alley lay vacant. Hogwarts remained like a haunted mansion on the very edge of society. No one wanted to stay where there had once been death- the castle sat empty for a great many days after the war ended.

There wasn't celebrating like there had been eighteen years before.

There weren't parties on every street corner or feasts in every household. Too many had fought and died for this victory, celebration wasn't fit for the night before a funeral. Those who survived didn't need a party to recognize the exhale that fell from their lips nearly twenty-four hours before.

Those who had died in the battle were taken home and prepared for burial. Harry Potter and Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt prepared speeches for the fifty-odd funerals that were about to take place, writing obituaries for friends, family and colleagues into the early hours of the morning.

Change was imminent- but no one was ready for what this new reality meant. Change meant leaving things behind- leaving people they loved six feet below.

Change meant sacrifice for a new world- change meant loss and pain and grief. Change meant all this and more, for this stark white reality was the true price for peace.

...

Those forty-eight hours after the war ended were the most painful two days of them all.

Molly Weasley and her family moved back to the Burrow just as soon as they retrieved their stuff and their owls (and cat) from Muriel's. Harry and Hermione trailed behind them, not sure if their presence in was acceptable or even welcomed. To be honest, they had no choice but to follow- they simply had nowhere else to go.

Percy followed dumbly as well, as did Arthur- but out of all of the Weasley's, it was George who instead of weeping had retreated so far into himself that there was little hope of return.

Molly tried to keep her family busy by cleaning the Burrow top to bottom, dusting out the attic, clearing out the broom shed, nonsensical tasks did little to take their minds off of the fact that they would be burying Fred in a little over a week. She hampered on her sons and daughter more than she should have to disguise her grief, but they all knew that she was in pain. They all found her at some point- huddled over the dinner ham or folding towels in the scullery- sobbing and begging and beaten red and raw from crying. The pain from the death of a child was something they couldn't understand- it was something that no one should have to understand. Molly Weasley was in too much pain to function. But she had to- there was work to be done whether she was ready to face it or not. There were mouths to feed and floors to sweep- and someone had to do it. To be honest, it also kept her busy and her mind clear from other things and It was only when there wasn't work to be done that the pain became unbearable.

In her haste, Molly planted the garden and bought a rooster and a handful of hens after she lost the ones she had in the scramble to escape the Burrow, chose to live on instinct rather than cognitive movement lest she break down in the bedroom, in the kitchen. Chose to feed everyone and anyone who stayed more than fifteen minutes at her kitchen table and cried the first time someone sat in Fred's empty chair beside George. But she picked herself back up again, gathered the pieces of her broken heart and mended them best as she could, cooked dinner every night and breakfast every morning as a means of therapy.

She had known early on that sometimes death has no purpose and comes with no warning- sometimes death comes leaving nothing but desolation in its wake. Fabian and Gideon had died before their time too, after all. Sometimes death far too early for no reason at all, and in the end death is nobody's fault.

Molly came to realize that death doesn't have to have a reason. It needs no explanation. Death comes simply because it must, and one day it will come to them just the same as it has come for others

So slowly she gained back the colour in her cheeks in the bounce in her step, learned to scold and bake and move again after the numbing guilt of a sons death hardened her heart. Learned to love her family with one less twin sitting at her kitchen table.

...

After a couple of nights of Ron and Harry slept in Ron's cramped room, they realized that it was far too small for the two of them. Arthur, Bill, Percy and Charlie built Harry's new room on the top floor next to Ron's- small as it was, Harry could only stutter out a thank you to the Weasley's, numb as he was in thanks. He decorated it with Quidditch posters and transfigured a fallen log into a bed frame, a bed of moss into a mattress, a curiously shaped rock into a desk that afternoon. He even stunned Hermione when he shrunk them and Levitated the lot up the stairs to the topmost bedroom without a second thought.

For the time being, Hermione was bunking with Ginny in her bedroom on a camp bed. She had assured Mrs. Weasley that she wasn't staying permanently, and for the time being living there was fine. Sooner or later the restrictions on international travel would be lifted and should be able to rescue her parents in Australia and move back in with them.

But after all that had happened, all that Molly wanted was her family close- Hermione and Harry- alone as they were- included.

Hermione brought a CD player and a plastic bag full of CD's from her parents house in Muggle London one night, played different Muggle songs until Arthur laughed with delight. Bill and Fleur waltzed to Celine Dion in the Burrow's sitting room that day, six weeks short of their one year wedding anniversary.

But even though the world was celebrating and the fear was gone- the sadness remained, and it was harder than one could imagine to remember that some were still grieving. It was hard to remember that this world was in peace, and the war was over- because in the mind of some it hadn't ended at all.

George all in all, taking this in mind, was remote. He locked himself in his room for hours at a time, barely eating, hardly sleeping. Not bothering for healing, mind you. In his opinion, his heart was already split in two.

There was no going back.

His ear had healed, but this gross approximation of the George he once was was now was lost. He wasn't George Weasley, half of a whole, second in the duo any longer. He had no one to complete his sentences or convince him to prank. He wasn't one who would dye the Great Hall pink or take Polyjuice potion to ask a girl out in someone else's name. He wasn't the George Weasley he once was, or ever had been before.

But sometimes, if they were patient, he'd join them for dinner. He'd eat a bite of soup and a piece of bread before running back upstairs, halfway to his room before he lost his mind and his heart and his nightmarish screams rang into the night.

Percy was, strangely enough, the best cure. He could get George to eat, to wash, to come downstairs.

He was there when Fred had been killed.

He had made his brother laugh in the moments before his death. He was the one who had said the eulogy at the funeral.

Percy was back for good (never wanted to leave, to be honest) and was proving himself day in and day out, the sole cure for his brother's broken heart.

And for one day, two days later, they got him back.

The real George: the twenty year old before the 1998 variety lost his smile.

He laughed. Ron tripped on a wayward gnome in the Burrow's garden and landed in the pond and he laughed.

(Even Molly stared when George joined him in the water, they hadn't seen the real one in far too long.)

And Ron caught him, propped his brother up in the slippery mud and hugged him, because for a second, for the first time in far too long they had George back and Ron had seen his brother again.

...

And every morning, they woke up. Saw the sun rise and set, saw Hermione try to heal and Harry make himself forget.

There was a May 3rd, and a May 4th, and a May 5th. Sunrise, sunset. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner that wasn't scavenged or stolen, served on plates with forks and knives. They slept in a bed that wasn't a bunk in a tent, had nights that weren't fitful because of hunger or fear. The follow-up was no plans to make, no Horcruxes to find and no Death Eaters to kill or be killed by. It was queer, now it was a miracle that the sun remembered to rise at all when so much normalcy had been gained and lost in so short a time.

But it did, and everyday was a new start.

A new first. First smile, first laugh. First time Molly and Arthur smiled down on their family without their hearts wrenching thinking about the empty chair beside George.

(It wasn't the first time she had gone it alone)

The Death Eaters had murdered Fabian and Gideon before their time, keep in mind, she had been here before.

And like she had some eighteen years previously she learned how to move on. To accept death and the vulnerability of love and the helplessness that comes with the lot with grace and with tears. She learned her peace, she had found her rest.

...

Then relapse, a brief reprieve. Breathe in, and breathe out- it was most certainly a guilt-worthy occasion. They had to swallow their fears and open the paper, or the door, or listen to reports from the floodgate of witnesses.

Let's give them a week before they relive May 2nd all over again.

Count the victims, hear the story. See the emptiness in a sixteen year old photographers dead eyes.

He was gone forever. One of many.

{Please try not to look away}.

There were fifty-two of ours, ninety-seven of theirs that had died since Voldemort returned in 1995. They were buried (celebrated, mourned over) and disposed of accordingly. There were funerals. Well-wishers. There were 'thank you's' and handshakes and a body lowered into the ground. Thank you Harry, Ron, Hermione- hand up, hand down. A firm grip. A nod towards the dead and a card pushed on the table.

There were flowers, lunches once the worst of the day was over. There were stolen kisses in an attic bedroom, a hollow twin, and a whisper about Australia.

That was reality of May- this was the day to day life in the days after the war, in that day and age where the funerals and memorials seemed endless.

It would be years still until June would come- because for them, May 2 1998 never ended at all, and this sadness would the case well into the months to come.

...

Angelina was the first to arrive for Fred's funeral.

She was wearing a red dress, had curled her hair and lipstick on, looked rather like she missed her turn for a wedding and somehow ended up on the Burrow's doorstep two hours early for a funeral.

Alicia Spinnet, Lee Jordan and Katie Bell came next, walked through the front door past a stunned Bill and Fleur and went straight into the twins bedroom. They were the first to see George on that terrible, terrible day, and then spent enough time to make him laugh, smile. Helped him forget (even for a moment) that Fred wasn't beside him cracking jokes like he used to. Like he had been for the twenty years before he had died.

Mrs Weasley had made breakfast the night before, instructed Hermione and Ginny on how to put together the final touches under the assumption that she would not only be exhausted from lack of sleep the day of, but also tear soaked in preparation for a child's funeral.

They held it in the garden, laid a son (a brother, a friend) to rest under the apple tree by the broom shed. The one the Weasley's had built a tree fort in when they were children.

The ceremony was quiet, but people came in hoards, the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, the entirety of the DA, all of the twins friends from their year and the ministry representatives. Friends and coworkers from the shop, neighbours in Diagon Alley. Kingsley gave a speech, awarded George with his twin's post-humerous Order of Merlin, First Class for his bravery as a first class Gryffindor, brother and friend.

Half the world and all their friends came to the funeral of Fred Weasley.

Half the world was lucky enough to have known him, the other half would spend their lives finding the man he was in theirs. He is and was the spirit of freedom, of invention, of curiosity. He was a brother, a son, a twin. A partner in crime, a procurer of chaos, the friend who would remain after all else had been lost. He was the one who believed a lost brother could come home even after everyone else had given up hope.

He had died in the pursuit of life, because survival isn't living, and Fred knew the difference.

And at the very moment, almost two weeks after the war, George realized that he knew did too.

...

George went on his first flight with Angelina after the funeral.

Not his first first, that was with Fred on stolen brooms, Bill's and Charlie's when they were five. This was another first, the first time in the air since the war.

It was characterized primarily with the appearance of a Muggle football and set into motion by the erection of a Portable Swamp behind the broomshed after Fred's funeral. Of all the people to discover it, it was Aunt Muriel who became the first victim: she had fallen in on her way to the loo, screamed as lichen ruined her hair and a toad leapt down her blouse and then blamed the entirety of the event on Ronald's new girlfriend with the skinny ankles who was unfortunate enough to be standing nearby.

Angelina saw the open slot masked with confusion and laughter, slipped into the broom shed and grabbed the least worn brooms there were, tossed one to George and flew off into the air without invitation, or question, really, that he wouldn't follow her.

By the time George was thirty feet in the air, Angelina was already soaring into Little Whinging with a Summoned Muggle football in her hands. She had kicked off her high heels and her bare skin shone in the faint moonlight, her long hair twisting in the wind. She was smiling, and looking at his old friend in the moonlight, George felt himself grin with her.

"Since we don't have a Quaffle," she said solemnly, "this'll have to do.

This marked the second time that George had laughed since Fred had died.

He had forgotten how much he missed it.

George used a branch he found on the forest floor as a beaters bat, and he and Angie stayed laughing until they cried, hitting the ball back and forth, back and forth. They laughed and joked and teased each other like they had before the war, like they were the friends that they had always been even now, even after Fred was gone.

George and Angie set off fireworks at four A.M and laughed and yelled louder when the neighbours complained- realizing then more then ever that this is what it was to be alive. This is what it was to be truly awake and present for the first time in five years. This is what it was to be twenty and invincible, twenty and vulnerable, twenty and heartbroken. This is what it was to grieve for a man who hadn't cried a day in his life- this is what it meant to live after Fred Weasley had died.

George kissed Angie for the first time after the last firework had exploded overhead and they lied together laughing and joking and splitting that never-ending bottle of Firewhiskey until the dawn broke and the sun rose. They stayed together when everyone else had gone, and would well into the years to come.

...

Hogwarts wasn't redeemed immediately.

In the immediate aftermath there were bodies littered in and amongst the rubble of the once great castle standing in ruins. There was blood on walls and wind blowing through the broken windows. The whole school sat on a slant, the foundations were reinsured through magical support lest the ancient castle topple on its own.

Repair took time.

Now that the Carrow's were imprisoned, McGonagall rose to Headmistress and took the school in the palm of her hand. Classes were suspended indefinitely (or so she said to the press) lest their hopes be set too high. It was far better to receive a happy surprise than to face bitter disappointment.

Once the last funeral was over, those who had fought came back to the school they had once loved- came with tools and their wands to put Hogwarts back to what it once was.

There were repair crews, the department of Magical Maintenance was working overtime to put Hogwarts back to rights. Near everyone who fought came to help, plus what was left of the Order; the Weasley's, Cho and Lee Jordan, Neville, Luna, Dean and Seamus, Harry and Hermione. They lifted beams and fixed windows, repaved the corridors that had been destroyed. McGonagall repaired Dumbledore's tomb after Harry returned the wand, resealed it and cast magical protections over the place lest it ever happen again. Once Harry died, the Deathstick would lose it's power. Upon his hand, two of the Hallows would be lost, the third passed on to his son.

Those who stayed shared lunches under the Beech tree on the shores of the Loch, exchanged Chocolate Frog cards and Every Flavour Beans with each other, joked and laughed and tried to move on, to just be the kids they once had been before the war took away their innocence and their childhood.

They tried to sink back into the person they had been before their world came crumbling down- to reclaim the pieces of themselves that had been lost. They stayed with each other in a failing attempt to not think about the corpses they had carried back from this very lawn four weeks earlier.

Day in and day out they worked to bring Hogwarts back to rights. They spent weeks and ages repaving tile and raising walls, cringing with a rag in their hands as they scrubbed blood from stone. Tears spilled when the castle rose up once again, old memories and recent wounds scarred their subconscious and terrorized them at night. For the time being, those working full time to rebuild the castle stayed in the dormitories, families spread out in four-posters and ate together in the Great Hall. Houses didn't matter anymore, and all ate together and laughed together when they had five minutes to spare.

They laughed together during the good times when they could see themselves healing and held each other up when all fell apart. In those weeks following the second of May, hope was found in hard work, it was attained by sweat and strained muscles and nods as they passed in the corridors. Hope was attained in the little things, and it was gained through busy days and exhausted nights repairing Hogwarts in those days after the war.

It took two weeks for the majority of the work to be completed- rubble cleared, foundations secured along with quite a few of the little things, like restoring portraits and re-sealing the magical borders around Hogwarts. But it was done through teamwork and mutual ideas on what order should look like- what peace should be now that the worst was over.

...

Angie was the one who found Fred's will.

Turns out that it was in the shop, in the upstairs flat the twins had shared. Hidden amongst a box of reciepts and blueprints for new inventions- tucked inside his childhood keepsakes and his last Weasley jumper.

It was the first time George had been back to the shop since well before the war ended. He went mostly because he knew that he must, but Angie came with him to guarantee that he'd make it out alright.

She was the one who found it- she went to make Fred's bed when it dropped out from under the bed frame.

Hermione was the one who executed the estate, still firm in her idea that until the Ministry was on firmer footing, they couldn't be trusted in affairs such as these. To be honest, she was still bitter in the way they discredited Dumbledore and distrusted him in wake of his death.

Fred had decided to leave everything to his family, to split up the shares of the shop so his parents and siblings (even surrogate ones in Harry, Angelina and Hermione) would be well looked after in the event of his death.

He told George more than once to move on, to re-open the shop and keep joy alive even in a potential world without him. He said that while people were dying left and right and while whole families were going into hiding, he didn't want his brother to stop living on his account. Even Fred understood that if this war never ended, you couldn't stop living in the pursuit of surviving; because life without laughter was reality now in the life without Fred.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes remained barred and closed, the bright lights dampened, the colourful inventions dusty in abandonment for those first couple months after May. George tried, he truly did- but life wasn't the same at the shop without Fred there- he couldn't stand to be alone in that place where they had once been so happy together.

But he understood now more than ever life must go on- Fred wouldn't want him to be sad for him. He would want him to move on.

...

Things were changing at the Ministry. After the war ended, all those who had worked to corrupt the Ministry had fled rather than risk imprisonment. Some made it- but most were caught, arrested and sent to trial as a Death Eater accomplice. Anyone who in their trial was found guilty of siding with Lord Voldemort was sent to Azkaban.

Kingsley was made temporary Minister for Magic in the middle of June, a steady head for this new reality- for a new beginning in magical policy making.

His first act of business was clear Azkaban of those who were unworthy of being there, to assume professional trials for suspected Death Eater's and long time members alike. To not have a Sirius Black happen again, and most importantly for fear to not overrule law and to let those of pure intent walk free without fear.

He had discovered the horror that had become of the Ministry first hand, undercover as he was in not only the Magical system of government, but also the Muggle. He knew of those who had been coerced into being Death Eater sympathizers and those who were playing at being Death Eater themselves. He rounded up the lot, questioned and put them under trial. But those who hadn't died in the final battle and who's loyalty was tattooed onto their forearms landed in Azkaban, a cleaner and more humane version of the prison in the North Sea, free of Dementors now that the worst of it was now over.

All but three of the suspected Death Eaters were sentenced to Azkaban. They were sentenced in front of the Wizengamot and were filed under another category entirely. They were the tipping point of this new government, a primary test.

All those who were found to not be Death Eaters, or associated with them at all other than the unfortunate twist of a wand in the form of the Imperius Curse had their memories of the past year cleared and were returned to their families for rehabilitation.

By doing so, however, a number of the high level posts for Ministry departments were found vacated. Arthur Weasley was promoted, given a higher salary and a better office as well as the title of Senior Secretary for the Minister of Magic, a post that gave him great pride to hold. But his heart would always belong to all things Muggle, so his job remained quite the same; other than the fact that two more Ministry workers were assigned under him. His work now varied to the objects of the Muggle world, and how they could assist and develop further in the magical one. It a task to which he often asked Hermione for assistance in, and it was here that she coincidently found a foothold in the form of a future father in law, well on her way to being a higher-up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement even though she was still in school.

Kingsley as temporary Minister had yet to be sworn into service, so his acts too were temporary until he became a full member. Before that could happen, however, he understood that many other pressing issues came first, one of which was an assembly of other Minister's of Magic to be held immediately to discuss the conclusion to the threat that was Lord Voldemort. Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers had been found, questioned and rounded up in every country in western Europe as well as other eastern states and were being dealt with accordingly. Many were still missing or not accounted, and the Auror corps spent their days in the wilderness hunting them down to be interrogated, sentenced and imprisoned.

It was decided that twice a year a meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards would meet, come together and hash out the problems that concerned them all.

At Kingsley's request, to the left of every minister was the Muggle ruler of state, as he felt that it was due time that the magical community took a stance to unite (if not only secretly) the magical and Muggle worlds on pressing issues that had effect on all. The devil-may-care attitude that Fudge had once maintained for the British Prime Minister would never happen again, and all present took an oath to bind themselves to the strength of their collective unity.

...

After Hogwarts was repaired and the world was relatively calm once again, Neville, Ron and Harry were scouted for Auror training, and left for the Ministry of Magic after the last funeral was over in late June. (There were still Death Eaters and Dementors on the loose, after all, still wizards torturing Muggles, still prejudice against Muggleborns) Still wars to fight and battles to win.

They went to training with everyone else, though, despite their impressive experience. Learned to fight and to protect, re-learning the charms and hexes they Harry had taught them in the DA. Learned to watch their backs and work as a team. Went home on the weekends to see their girlfriends, to have a round of drinks in the Leaky Cauldron and talk about the war.

They moved in together too, after all that. After the girls had gone to Hogwarts and they desired independence. Once the security of the building was secured and the dark magic removed, Ron, Harry and Neville each had a floor to themselves in Grimmauld Place.

Another act of Kingsley's was to issue an all clear to all those still in hiding from Voldemort, to recover them by means of the Auror corps, the first mission for those training. Harry, Ron and Neville were sent collectively to Scotland and then to Wales, finding friends and enemies alike hidden away in fear of Death Eaters and Snatchers. It was much to the surprise of Harry's (and amusement of Ron's) that many of those they found were afraid of him as well, the infamous Undesirable No.1 was held in almost as much reverence and frank fear that they decided that he should be left out of the initial recovery, until they were sure that Harry would do more good than harm.

Once the message was delivered, hundreds of families, couples and Muggleborns who were lucky enough to escape the Snatchers were reintegrated back into society, protected from the attitudes that had once imprisoned them by the Muggleborn Act, the first law reinforced by Kingsley's new government. Business for the first time in five years bloomed and shops in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade that had long since been closed were reopened. Ollivander's was reopened just in time for the new school year, and Hermione and Ron were in line with the other first years and battle veterans to buy a new wand for the ones they'd lost.

The niece of Florean Fortescue took ownership of the ice-cream parlour in July, and she was overjoyed to see that business as usual had resumed at last. She took joy in delivering happiness, in increasing hope and reinforcing the reality that good times were on the way.

it could only get better from here.

...

However, others were still in isolation, not by choice, but by the reality of grief on mothers who had already lost a child, and were nowhere near prepared to let another get out of their sights.

As such, Ginny was in sorts, driven mad by the thought of a summer cleaning the attic and dusting out the broom cupboard for five months rather than have some fun for a change. While she and Harry desired more than anything to pull closer together, it seemed bad timing, conflicting schedules and privacy all had a role to play in their separation. If the truth was to be told, Mrs Weasley was unsure how to handle it- her sons and daughters were dating and the fact of the matter was that they simply didn't need her as much as they had used to.

And it hurt- for Mrs Weasley who only wanted her family close this change hurt a lot.

While Harry was away with Ron doing missions for the Aurors, Ginny often bunked with George at the shop's flat when Mrs Weasley was in a state, feeling both elated and guilty at the thought of leaving her with an empty house when she so dearly desired to have her family close. She ended up landing a job at Quality Quidditch Supplies that first summer after the war, a post she both desired as an escape mechanism, but also as a source of semi-independence in a world she had so little control over. She often flew home on her shiny new Nimbus 2000 on the weekends, or to the Ministry to see Harry and Ron at lunch. But her real drive was writing, and once she was certain that the Daily Prophet was on firmer footing (and sure that those who had once framed Harry and Dumbledore were sacked) she became a journalist. Not paid anything substantial, or given particularly interesting jobs, but from the moment she saw written by Ginevra Weasley in the Prophet on her article, she was entranced. She was published, and Ginny was happy.

Harry and she often went to the Leaky Cauldron, or more often to the Three Broomsticks when school started up again in September to have quiet dates around the village or broom races around the Quidditch Post. It was he alone who saw it as no surprise when Ginny was named Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain in her final year, and he who sent a brand new Firebolt to her by Owl Post at breakfast when he heard. Harry wasn't surprised by the awed looks his former classmates held for him when he visited, or shocked when a particularly bold Hufflepuff second year asked for his signature. He was just happy that his first home was repaired and healing and that its walls still held the same magic it had when he had first seen the castle seven years ago.

At night though everything seemed hopeless. Healing happened during the day, and at night, Harry relived all the terrors that still haunted him in his subconscious.

All that summer, Ginny was there when Harry woke up shaky and screaming for help, she was the one who heard him yelling her name at the peak of a particularly potent nightmare. She learned more from his screams than his silence, or his words when they came. She categorized and stockpiled information from the year on the run from his nightmares and screams that rang in the night. But she was there for him. She came for him. And when he screamed her name she came to him with quiet words and kisses until he could calm down once more.

When Ginny was home, at the Burrow for the weekend, it was also she who was kind enough to hide Extendable Ears underneath Harry's mattress so he would wake her when he had a nightmare. He knew that she would never leave, but her presence reassured him when his dreams turned to nightmares and nothing made sense. She was the one who would wake him up and calm him down after he woke in cold sweat. She knew the right words to reassure him and when to let go, when to hold tighter and when to let him deal with his demons on his own. They helped each other heal, and when their nightmares coincided they spent the night curled up on the floor until they relaxed enough to stop shaking, held each other close in fear that another war might steal the other away once again. She chose the night of Harry's worst nightmares to sleep under an Invisibility cloak and lie in her boyfriend's arms rather than face cold sheets and an empty bedroom for the seventeenth year in a row. Not for a romantic ultimatum, or for a reason to rebel against Mrs Weasley, but as a way to heal.

Over that summer (and well into their marriage) Harry and Ginny had their share of fights, of arguments. He took her fear and her anger in kissed her in the middle of a sentence instead of retaliating because he knew that she was right, and in the end nothing was worth letting her go now. Ginny was his rock and his solace, and he needed her as much as she needed him. Right until the very end.

...

Ron often came home to visit the Burrow when Harry did, for not only home cooked food and clean clothes, but also for the welcome company of their girlfriends when home from Hogwarts.

They had grown together quite nicely, Hermione and him. They fit together in spirit, in ideals. He knew how deeply she missed her parents, and vowed with her that night (add more) that he would go with her to Australia to find them once she graduated and the international travel bans were lifted.

Hermione often shook in the night as well, nightmares about Malfoy Manor and the prickling scar on her forearm left her crying and calling out for help in the early hours of the morning.

Ron heard her one night, followed the sound of screaming with his wand held tightly in his hand and turned white at the thought that that terrible sound was coming from Ginny's room, and when he opened the door, from his girlfriend's mouth.

He was the one who whispered her name and lied with her until she woke up, until she stopped shaking and her pulse retuned back to normal. Ron was the one who Summoned a damp cloth and a glass of water, the one who stayed when she asked him to and didn't leave her side until morning.

He had promised her that he would never leave again, and that night he began a lifelong career of living up to his promise.

Whenever they were home together, he laid awake listening intently for her, and jumped out of bed in the hopes of bringing her out of a nightmare without fear or hesitations to her safety. He wiped her sweaty brow and kissed her soundly until she was calm enough to fall back asleep.

Molly caught him one night, sneaking into his sisters bedroom in the early hours of the morning. She watched from the hall as he calmed her down and reassured her that everything was alright. He didn't argue when she asked him to stay with her, and tucked her into his arms on her tiny camp bed, intent on helping his girlfriend heal. She watched as they fell asleep with a motherly affection and stayed until she was certain that they were fast asleep.

And to everyone's surprise as well as her own, Molly let them sleep, left two mugs of hot milk and nutmeg on the bedside table and kissed the two of them on the foreheads before leaving the room. She knew all about Australia, after all- the twins weren't the only ones who used Extendable Ears to listen in on conversations. She was well aware of the implications pushing her son away would cause and knew better than most that they were adults, and survival was key when nightmares were more frequent than dreams. They had made it this far, and she wasn't about to separate them now.

...

Percy had learned the hard way that for him, too much power was never a good thing, and most importantly that he valued his family more than his job. He almost didn't know what to think when he applied at Flourish and Blotts that summer, even more so when they hired him on the spot. They said they had been looking for a new sales assistant after the last one went into hiding in the war. He fell love with the quiet work, with the reassurance that he had always found in books. He loved the fact that his job would always be there tomorrow, and that he looked forward to going back each day.

Mr. Flourish wasn't often there, but his daughter was hired in August. Quiet, at first, but quick and funny once he had gotten to know her, Audrey captivated him at once. Once school started up again and Diagon Alley got busier, they often worked double shifts together, stocking the shelves and taking inventory late into the night. It was then that Percy discovered her love for Muggle books, and later on he who ordered a sprawl of Muggle literature for a new section of the shop. It was he who read Shakespeare and Dickens so he would have something to talk about with her at work, he who admitted to his deed once he saw the way her eyes were shining.

Once her father retired, she and Percy took up the shop themselves, ordering shipments and taking inventory and helping greedy readers like themselves find a new passion. Percy found real joy and satisfaction in what he did, and after two years of a partnership, he proposed in order to do so more efficiently.

They raised two children together, Molly and Lucy, born a year after one another and raised them to be smart and kind and brave. Named after family so they would learn Percy's mistake and never turn their backs on those who loved them.

...

For the time being- life was calm once more.

The Weasley's spent their free afternoons playing Quidditch, cleaning and sitting still. Harry and Ginny got back together again, and much to Harry's relief, she had forgiven him for leaving without telling her last August.

Ron and Hermione started dating too- and they were happy. They made each other happy in that summer after the war.

For them, it seemed like the summer would never end- it was full of long days of sunshine and relaxation. Voldemort was gone- a new day had come. A day where they could do nothing all day long- sit with ice lollies and books by the pond, play Quidditch, climb trees. Heal their broken bones and broken hearts with the rest they all desperately needed.

Others had found this as well. Luna had found her own way of keeping busy; between nursing her father back to health and waiting to finish her last year at Hogwarts she opened a small apothecary in Little Whinging, specializing in the outlandish and often imaginary creatures she discovered on her adventures. She met Rolf Scamander on a trip to Scandinavia three years after she graduated, and they married after eight years of partnership turned to courting, and lived out their lives on the top of a mountain in Ireland in the only magical village for a hundred miles, raised their sons to see hope in the hopeless and happiness in sadness like they had in their youth.

Cho left her wand behind after the war, moved back home to Dublin and married a Muggle, the curious man who courted her from behind the bookshelves at her favourite library. The one who recommended Little Women and the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, the boy who told her that she reminded him of Jane Bennet huddled over a pot of Earl Grey and proposed with a half-dozen red roses in his back pocket.

She never told him about magic. Never told him about Cedric. The clever witch from Ravenclaw's house knew more than most that magic wouldn't save her now, and after all she had gone through to save it, her wand collected dust as she lived out her life as a Muggle. A witch without a wand is a woman who has fought too hard for something she couldn't keep. Not really. Because magic is cheating and life on its own is a gift.

Seamus married a French witch he met at a pub, pulled a Ted Tonks and asked her out three songs in- so overjoyed that he almost forgot she was real the way stars were shining in her eyes.

They were happy. They were safe.

They hadn't feared death since they were seventeen, and wouldn't again for many years to come.

...

After they graduated from Auror training, Neville, Ron and Harry had their fair share of adventures.

They went to Scandinavia to hunt down hags, to Russia to find some of the last remaining Death Eaters- though they were called something different there that none of them could pronounce.

They learned to work as a team- to share jobs and sleeping shifts like they had been doing it all their lives. They wrote letters to their girlfriends and families and had far too much instant Muggle food than what was good for them.

They had the time of their lives. Out there in the bush, they learned more about themselves then they had ever before.

It was something they had always wanted to do- it was keeping people safe. It was protecting Britain's interests in Europe- it was banishing the very thought of Voldemort from the minds of those who had lived through it.

It was the right thing to do, and the three of them grew together as brothers- closer than they ever had before.

They found the last Death Eater accomplices in March, 1999. They were hiding in a Muggle neighbourhood in Germany. They Stunned the lot and ducked the unintelligible spells they threw at them. Once they were rounded up- there was peace once more.

...

Ron had always known that being an Auror was what he wanted to do.

It had been almost immortalized in his childhood- it was brave and courageous and all he ever wanted for himself. It was everything he wasn't- and he desired more than ever to make himself brave.

But after all the Death Eaters had been caught, he lost interest. As much as he loved being with Harry, as much as he wanted the world to be safe, he didn't want to spent the rest of his life watching his back. He wanted to live, he didn't just want to survive.

He handed in his resignation in May, a couple of weeks before Hermione would get back for Hogwarts. It was funny, really, that after all those years of lusting after recognition all he wanted now was for people to leave him alone. He couldn't stand the speculation nor the greedy stares, ripped up the Daily Prophet when they gossiped about his and Hermione's 'engagement' his face as red as a tomato.

He wasn't a hero, not really. He had killed a Horcrux to prove a point, not because he wanted to- he was no Harry Potter.

When he wasn't at Grimmauld Place, he spent his time at the Burrow. He did it mostly so that he had people to be with, but also because he understood that his mum was lonely. She wanted him there, so even though he didn't always want to, he stayed.

He knew that he was needed, and it was welcome. He wanted more than anything to be wanted, and he found it in family- a place where it had been all along.

...

George moved back into his flat in September, a couple of days after Ginny and Hermione had left for Hogwarts. He pried open the door and blew the dust off the bright and colourful inventions he and his brother had created together, tossed off his cloak and pulled on his magenta robes- grinned the first time he saw himself smile in the mirror and didn't see his twin staring back at him.

But productivity didn't happen immediately, it took time. The first time George dropped a case of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and was enveloped in darkness, he was struck to his knees with a powerful panic attack, coughing and choking and lying there curled in the fetal position until his new assistant had the good sense to send a Patronus to Angelina.

She was the one who brought him up, brushed him off. Held him until he stopped shaking, and then led him to the Leaky Cauldron and fed him hot soup she until he was calm once more. It was also she who threw the entire stock of Darkness Powder into the alley and locked the back door behind her.

She was the one who introduced the idea to George that Ron would make a fantastic business partner, and after he quit the Auror corps she signed him on as a surrogate replacement for Fred.

Ron was the one who suggested the line of products aimed at survivors, at those healing. The one who had first suggested the idea of sleeping draughts to give good dreams and automatic messages to loved ones in the event of night terrors. The one to design a potion that could counteract the effects of panic attacks and a spell to St. Mungo's if it was serious enough for medical attention. He had learned a lot taking care of Hermione, after all.

He was in his element, confidence restored. Ron was a natural salesman, a war hero and a genius when it came to catering to customers. In those months after the war and into the years beyond, Ron looked after his brother, and George watched out for him.

Gradually, Ron came to love the shop and its strange sights and smells. He loved how the sunshine shined on the west walls when they opened the shop and seeing the crowds of people that he, Harry and Hermione had fought to save.

He loved the way this new reality was true- that each day he woke up with another day to make a difference and live happily. He loved that he got to see his girlfriend on the weekends and would wake up with her by his side every morning once she graduated and they finally got married.

He loved that he got to help his brother heal and could make a new future for himself now, one that he knew his brother would be proud to see.

...

Harry and Ginny eloped.

They both hated the idea of a big wedding so after Ginny graduated in June- they got married at the Ministry of Magic. She wore her favourite dress, and Harry jeans and a suit jacket.

They didn't care about the wedding- the cared about the marriage.

Of course, Molly was furious when she found out. She didn't understand how they could take the marriage of her only daughter away from her. But Arthur understood- Harry had asked his permission after all. He understood more than most- Harry would never have had the intimacy of a private wedding had it not been this way- the press followed him wherever he went.

Harry left Grimmauld Place after they got married and they moved back to his parents house in Godric's Hollow. it only made sense that they should live out the rest of their lives in a place that had once held joy for his own parents, and to raise their children in a house that he had once been happy in.

When it was finally repaired and the Dark Magic removed, they hung pictures on the walls and planted flowers in the garden- hung curtains in their bedroom window. They grew ivy climbing up the exterior and arranged the furniture in a way that pleased them, and for the first time since Ginny had graduated, they finally felt settled.

They filled every corner of that house with laughter and happiness and shared lunches and desserts in the garden. They babysat Teddy and baby Victoire and had sleepovers in the living room and dreamed of kids that they would have together some day.

Harry raised a half Quidditch pitch in the garden, placing charms to disguise the place so they and the Weasley's could fly whenever they wished. Teddy rode around on his toy broom there under his godfather's supervision and cheered on Victoire when she was old enough to try it for herself. They played four on four at the pitch when all of their friends were in town and spent nights under the stars cuddled on the porch swing.

For the first time since sixth year they let go of everything- for the first time in Harry's life he was safe. He was loved. He had people who loved him back and was settled into a life he had made for himself.

...

Harry first met his godson at Remus and Tonks' funeral. He held the baby for Andromeda when she spoke the eulogy, and held onto him like a lifeline when everything else was falling apart. This precious life was free from fear, free from this endless sadness. He had no idea that his parents were being put into the ground that day, no clue what was going on, really. He was barely three weeks old.

Teddy Lupin was already an orphan. But looking down at his godson, Harry realized quite suddenly that he would rather die than give the baby a life alone, a life spent feeling unworthy and unwanted like what he had had. Teddy was family even then.

They brought him and Andromeda back to the Burrow once it was over, and Harry spent the afternoon thoroughly examining his godson. He was a Metamorphmagus, just like his mother, and his favourite hue for his hair was turquoise. His eyes in their natural state were the same colour as Remus's, a deep, chocolate brown. He yawned in his sleep, and liked to suck his thumb. He had the chubbiest cheeks and laughed a laugh that sounded like bells when he was happy, which was often. Harry was in love immediately.

They spent many days like that in the days after the war, Teddy sleeping on Harry's chest like he imagined Sirius had for him all those years ago. He held onto Teddy's hands and tried his best to make him laugh, and learned how to calm him down when he was fussy rather than hand him back to Andromeda or Mrs. Weasley. He learned the lesson of his own godfather and stayed with him rather than seek help, and as time would tell- it was more than enough.

He took Teddy on long walks in his pram, to Diagon Alley or around Muggle London. He showed him birds and buses and cats and trees, and always stopped for ice-cream at the end. He knew Teddy began to see him as a father figure when he reached for him when he was crying or sad, and was proud how easily he was able to make him feel better, which usually ended in a long walk to calm Teddy down. When Ginny was home from school, she'd often accompany them, and the Daily Prophet started speculating that Teddy was their son instead of just a godson. Harry didn't mind, but the next morning, the bugger who had taken the paparazzi photos found himself hexed and Harry came back to a suspiciously ecstatic Ginny.

Teddy started walking when he was ten months old, and said his first word at eighteen months. He learned the hard way that Crookshanks didn't like his tail being pulled, and got a scar on his eyebrow to prove it. He learned to love the Weasley's, Hermione and his new cousin Victoire and accepted them into his little family along with him and Andromeda. He grew into a person his parents would be proud of- brave and capable and strong.

Teddy spent his childhood divided between his Gran's house, Harry and Ginny's and the Burrow. He grew up with his cousins and his godfather and his Grandma, he grew up with a family, with people who loved him. And he was happy, and unlike his godfather, Teddy Lupin grew up with a smile on his face.

He waited with Harry in the father's room at St. Mungo's when James, Al and Lily were born, playing games with his godfather, keeping him distracted from Ginny's screams from down the hall. He babysat all of the Potter kids and most of the Weasley's, and collected Harry and Ron's Chocolate Frog cards along with those of his parents. He grew up knowing that he was treasured and loved, and never once doubted their affection for him, he grew up in a way that Harry knew would've make his parents proud.

He grew up knowing that he was an orphan, and that his parents were war heroes, and died in the hope that they could make the world safer for their son. Harry told him stories whenever he asked about his parents like Sirius once had for him. Telling him about the way that Tonks changed her hair colour to make Ginny and Hermione laugh when they were at Grimmauld Place, how Lupin had taught Harry DADA in his second year and showed him how to cast his first Patronus. He told Teddy the story of how his parents fell in love and the day they got married. He showed him their wedding rings and the photograph his father had taken the day he was born. He took Teddy to his parents graves every year on their birthdays, and when he was old enough, he told them about the war; Voldemort and his Death Eaters and the day that both of his parents were killed.

He had heard the basics before he left for Hogwarts in his first year- Harry had told him the truth before kids at school could tell him otherwise. But he didn't tell him all- he was only eleven. Harry wanted to keep him from the pain the truth would bring until he was old enough to be able to process it.

Once Rita Skeeter wrote her book about Harry in Teddy's sixth year (Harry Potter, the Man Behind the Legend,) Teddy had more questions than ever. He wanted the truth.

So over the Easter hols when Ted was back from school, Harry told him everything. The good and the bad- starting with Lily and James' deaths, leaving nothing left to the imagination.

He told him how the Dark Lord had risen about ten years before Harry was born, how he was vanquished and how he rose again when Harry was at Hogwarts. He told Teddy how Voldemort had come back with unicorn blood on the back of the DADA's professor's head in his first year and how Dumbledore had tricked him into fleeing once again. He told him about the Chamber of Secrets and how Ginny had been the one to open it, how Hermione had been petrified and how she brewed the Polyjuice potion so they could change in Malfoy and his friends. He told him about Lockhart and Fawkes and how he had killed the Basilisk with the sword of Gryffindor, how he had destroyed the Horcrux of the diary even though he didn't know it was one.

He told Ted about how Pettigrew had faked his death and framed Sirius for Lily and James' deaths- how he had hid and almost died rather than face his fears. He told him how he had his godfather for less than two years before he died.

Harry told about the cloudy ending to the Triwizard tournament that he hadn't told any of his kids, how Voldemort had killed Cedric and risen again reincarnate in the graveyard because he had stolen Harry's blood.

By this time, Teddy was shaking. He had never been told about anything to do with the war this clearly- everything was under wraps and now Teddy understood why. It was painful to talk about, this wasn't just a story, this was his family's history. They had lived through this and faced Voldemort year after year. Harry had been there when Voldemort rose out of that cauldron, he was the one who had done it all. Teddy wasn't sure he would ever look at his godfather the same way again.

He told him about Horcruxes, he told him about Dumbledore's death. He told him how Malfoy didn't kill Dumbledore because he was brave and how Snape had because he was, just in a different way.

He told him their time on the run, about breaking into the Ministry, killing the locket with the sword of Gryffindor. He told him about the Hallows, about how the three of them together would make on master of death. He told him how they had lost the tent and Gryffindor's sword to the Snatchers and how he and Ron had been locked in the cellar at Malfoy Manor with Luna, Dean and Ollivander and how Dobby had saved their lives. Harry tried his best to gloss over Hermione's torture, but Teddy had seen the scar on her forearm, he was even fairly sure that Hermione had already told Teddy about what it meant. He told Teddy instead how they had stolen wands from Bellatrix and Draco to make up for the ones they had lost and escaped to Shell Cottage. Harry spoke softly about Dobby's sacrifice, how he had buried him by Shell Cottage. Harry spoke about how they had made a deal with the goblin Griphook and how they rested up at the house, he told Teddy about the day he was born and how his father showed them a photograph of him when he was a baby and asked him to be godfather.

"Why did he ask you?" Teddy asked.

"I didn't know then, but I think I do now- your dad wanted to make up for a mistake he had made and saw this as a chance to redeem himself."

"What did he do?"

"It doesn't matter Ted- he fixed it in the end. Your dad was one of the best men I have ever known- he knew the right thing to do when his time came."

After that, Harry said, they broke into Gringotts to steal Helga Hufflepuff's cup from the Lestrange's vault and broke out on the back of a dragon. Harry told him about the war, about the battlements, how the younger kids had to leave through a secret passage into the Hog's Head. He told him about how the school had fought back and the magical boundaries the teachers had put up around Hogwarts.

He told him how Snape had died a hero because he made the right decision and tried to right his mistakes, how he had been Dumbledore's man and a Death Eater at the same time. He told Teddy that despite everything Snape had did to him, he still forgave him, and that was the reason why he had named Al after him.

Harry said that he had been there when Fred died, and that it wasn't until the battle had stopped that he realized that Tonks and Remus were dead. He told him that his parents had died doing the right thing, trying to make the world safer for their son.

"Voldemort gave me an ultimatum then," Harry said, looking Teddy straight in the eye. "I could give myself up to him and everyone else would be safe. I left before anyone knew I was gone, before anyone could convince me otherwise. That was the hardest walk of my life- I knew I was walking to my death. I knew that I wouldn't be able to fight back, that I had to willingly sacrifice myself in order for Voldemort to be killed for good."

"You died?" Teddy whispered, grabbing hold of Harry's robes like he had when he was a baby, even though he was too old to then. Harry looked down at his godson sadly. "Yes, I died. Dumbledore told me through Snape's memories that I was the last Horcrux, and all of the Horcruxes had to be destroyed if Voldemort truly was to die.

"I had realized by then that my cloak of invisibility truly was the one mentioned in the Tale of the Three Brothers. It was also a Hallow. That, along with the Resurrection Stone that Dumbledore had put in my snitch and Voldemort's wand made up the Deathly Hallows.

"In his will, Dumbledore gave me a snitch- the one from the first Quidditch match I won for Gryffindor. It said on the side open at the close, but I didn't realize what it meant until that moment. I knew I was going to die, this was the close of my life. The snitch opened, and inside was the Resurrection Stone."

"You saw your parents before you-you died." Teddy said in awe, his eyes full of tears. "you saw the people you loved most."

"Yes, I did. And your dad, and Sirius, I didn't know Lupin was dead until then. They gave me the strength I needed to sacrifice myself. I walked up to Voldemort and the Death Eaters knowing that that was the end. Voldemort cast the killing curse, and I was dead."

"What was it like?" Teddy asked. "did it hurt?"

"No, it didn't hurt- it didn't feel like anything. But the place I landed in was strange, it was white. Everything was white. Dumbledore was there- he told me that he had stayed behind for me." Harry said. "he told me that the Horcrux in me was gone, that by my sacrifice Voldemort could be mortal again. Before I left, I told Neville to kill the snake- it had to be done. and he agreed even though he didn't know why.

"After Dumbledore left, I made the decision to come back, and when I did, I was lying exactly where I had been. Hagrid carried me back to the castle and Voldemort told everyone that I was dead. It took everything in me not to say anything. Everyone was in so much pain, especially Ginny- I couldn't bear looking at her."

He told him how Neville had stood up to Voldemort and beheaded Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor and how Ron and Hermione had destroyed Hufflepuff's cup. He told Ted about how the Room of Requirement had been destroyed by Fiendfyre and subsequently destroyed the Diadem. He told him that Voldemort was a mortal man once again.

He told Ted how he had faced Voldemort in the Great Hall and offered Riddle a chance to redeem himself. He told him how their wands had met and rebounded- how Voldemort had killed himself in the end with a rebounding killing curse.

"We burned him," Harry said. "Him and the Death Eaters that had died- Bellatrix Lestrange included. Molly killed her."

"Gran?" Ted said in shock. "She'd never kill anyone."

"No?" Harry asked. "Answer me this then, she'd die to protect any of you, you know its true. She put her own life on the line because she was protecting Ginny- Bellatrix almost got her when they were duelling."

"Oh," Teddy said, his eyes wide with shock.

Harry looked over at his godson, who sat slumped over on the sofa. He put a hand on his godsons knee, who didn't move in response.

"I know it hurts to know, but you needed to hear it from me. The full truth- not the half-truths I tell Lily and Al- they're not old enough to know. It's painful and tough to realize. But know this Ted- the war's over. A new day has come. A day where I can tell you this and it could almost be a story."

"I guess," Ted said. "I still can't believe it."

"Be thankful you didn't have to live it," Harry said.

"I know. I just didn't know that it would hurt this much." Harry looked up, saddened to see that Teddy was crying, and his eyes shimmered with tears.

"So that's it- that was everything that nobody told you for so long," Harry said, pulling his godson into an embrace. "Was it everything that you thought it would be?"

"No," Teddy said, "I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. But-but thank you. It must've been hard to tell."

"You needed to know," Harry said sadly. "You needed to hear it. But I'm glad its from me- you deserve the full truth."

Harry got up to leave, but Ted grabbed onto his sleeve.

"Please don't leave, not yet."

"I won't," Harry promised, sitting back down. "I'll never leave you alone."


	2. Part 2

After she graduated Hogwarts the following May, Hermione packed and planned and organized; she was on a mission- she wanted to find her parents.

She wanted to go to Australia even though the thought she could never get them back plagued her day and night. She wanted to rescue them even if there was a slim chance that she could find them.

So that entire month, she and Ron spread documents and maps and library books out across his room in Grimmauld Place trying to make sense of the spell Hermione had cast. They contacted the Australian Ministry and laid the groundwork for Portkey's all the way to Australia, learning the customs of every place they would travel to and how their magic differed greatly from their own. Once they laid their affairs in order and gathered everything they would need, they packed all they had into Hermione's beaded bag, its Undetectable Extension charm still working.

She brought along Hogwarts a History and her mum's reading glasses from their house in Liverpool. He brought his new broom and enough Galleons to take Hermione out for a nice dinner now and again.

They were ready to go by June 1999- and when his mother refused, Ron went anyways. Truth be told, Arthur thought it was a wonderful idea. It was about time adults as they were were treated with respect.

But one day, on a perfectly sunny Sunday, they did leave.

Australia wasn't just a plan anymore, suddenly it actually happened. They were gone, Ron and Hermione (not Harry) tossed on a Portkey to another adventure.

And that night, there were two holes at the Sunday dinner table, two lovers treated with decency, privacy and respect (somewhat half-heartedly in places) halfway around the world.

It took three months of trains and Portkey's and false hope but it did happen.

They found them.

The charm was still in place, her parents were safe, they were happy- but something was missing. There was a Hermione-shaped hole eating away at their sanity.

They came over for tea one day, to the Wikins, to their East coast cul-de-sac in the middle of town.

She had her wand in her coat, Ron had his in his grip. The had a tent very similar to the one they had lived in for nine months last year in her purse, four aeroplane tickets home in her back pocket.

There was an Obliviate. Then a choke, because they had turned about. Mrs Granger gasped aloud- she had recognized her.

Hermione had tears in her eyes, and ran into her mothers arms, crying openly on her shoulder. Mr Granger stood still with his eyes on his family, firmly planted on his daughters face.

And for the first time in far too long, Ron heard Hermione laugh. In his opinion, it was the best sound in the world.

And on a whirlwind of new relationships and old scars, battle wounds and careful kisses, on a trip halfway around the world they left strangers and returned newly engaged, her smiling parents in tow.

(Even Harry couldn't believe it when he saw that rock on her finger, when his two best-friends asked him to be the best man)

But he saw that smile, and that's when he knew;

Ron and Hermione were always going to be more than best-friends. This was a knot tied by destiny.

...

After they returned and re-settled her parents into their old house, Hermione joined the Ministry of Magic first as a liaison to Muggles and Squibs in the Wizengamot at Arthur's request. She got her own cubical, and was stunned to find out that here, as a Muggle-born and as a woman, her voice was recognized and heard. She was a strong advocate of the annual assembly between the European heads of state and their respective Ministers for Magic, and petitioned for it to remain after major threats to Muggle and magical security (such as the threat of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, who had had influence as far as New Zealand and India, as well as supporters in the Americas) had come and gone. Unity is required, she had said, for cooperation and understanding to be at the masthead for collective problem solving and for future conflicts to be met with not fear, but strength.

She became the youngest member of the Wizengamot there ever was at twenty, and upon her marriage and her two pregnancies, she never once backed down. Never took her femininity as weakness, never saw her status as Muggleborn as a setback. In fact, she saw it as a privilege to be a mentor to other Muggleborns, and a right to be seen as who she was, and not from what she was born. She was also the one who took her newborn into the Wizengamot strapped to her chest, her six month old and her two year old on her lap, held together with firm resolve her role as not only a distinguished member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but also her duty as a mother to her children. She juggled her duties as she always had, with determination and with strength to push it through until the end.

Even though she had never wanted to be a lawyer, or involved to any degree in the Ministry of Magic, once she had seen how few had voices in a professional setting she stood up as a voice for them, to the goblins and the house elves and werewolves who had few to no rights under the law. She restarted S.P.E.W and drafted a bill giving werewolves the same rights as wizards under the law, called it the Lupin Complex after her late professor and friend. Bill Weasley testified for her in her campaign, as did Harry with the now five year old Teddy Lupin holding his hand. Under the bill, werewolves were given the same rights as humans not affected by Lycanthropy and it was made illegal for businesses to prejudice against them for employment. Kingsley headed up her bill and it was passed by unanimous vote. Hermione first and foremost took werewolves out of the magical beasts division of the Ministry, because above all, for all days but the full moon they are human, and deserve to be treated as such. She placed a werewolf at the head of the division catered to those affected by Lycanthropy as a sign of things turning for the better. People who had once been hiding from Fenrir Greyback come out of hiding and the fear of werewolves vastly depleted as the stigma died down. St. Mungo's made the decision to distribute the Wolfsbane potion for free to anyone who had registered as a werewolf under Hermione's bill, and within a decade of the law being passed, both the stigma and the humiliation of their condition passed, and another milestone was hurdled by Hermione's position.

...

Lucius Malfoy was the last trial.

To be honest- he was one of the ones who went on the run. He was only recovered a week or two before the trial took place, held in Azkaban before then so they could keep an eye on him.

Curiously, Narcissa wasn't with him- neither was Draco. They're absence did them credit, because if they had been with him, it would've been a trial for three rather than just for him.

On the 15th of July, Lucius Malfoy walked the stage, watched closely with the newly formed Auror corps along with the just appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He assumed his seat, and the Wizengamot began the first of many trials.

The accusation list was a mile long, evidence was brought forward and testimonies were heard. Had this been seventeen years ago, Lucius would've been sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, but it wasn't 1981 any longer, and if Kingsley nothing if he wasn't fair. So it really wasn't a surprise for anybody when he weaselled himself out of jail once again, but it was a shock to hear the final sentence, which was exile. Never to step foot in Britain again, relocated to another country where nobody knew him, a place where he could do no harm.

The same day they signed his sentence for banishment was the last day Narcissa and Draco ever saw him.

Narcissa left that court room with her head high, future changed with her son at her side. She moved away from the Manor after the war, but didn't dare sell it. Not yet. So in the meantime, she and Draco packed their things and their elves, moved quickly and quietly to a villa in France. After all that had happened, Narcissa thought she'd rather learn French instead of the Death Eater code.

Draco was remorse, often silent, and lived in solitude for a great many months after the battle. He was empty, a third of a trio who was missing a member, lost and confused without his father to guide him, a moral code to live by. The day he escaped from Hogwarts was the last time he would see the castle for ten years.

He missed Goyle, more than he dared to think of. He missed the way that he and Crabbe followed his every move, listened to his ideas and complaints and hopeless wishes of what he would do once the Dark Lord was powerful once again.

But he was a different man since the war, a different man every time he stepped out his front door without fear of what he had left behind. He liked France, he truly did. He liked the villa and the the town and the smell of baking bread in the mornings. He liked the view out from his balcony at sunset and the way it felt to lie on the rooftop and watch the stars when nightmares kept him awake. But he missed his old life, what it had been like before Voldemort had returned and realized that his father was the enemy.

He and his mother lived quietly that summer, they planted a garden, cleaned up the villa. Went to Paris sometimes and visited the Muggle landmarks along with the Wizarding ones closer to home in Nantes. But all the while he missed his old life, his old aspirations. It was also around this time that he realized that after all he had done, he wanted to commit the rest of his life to helping people rather than tearing them down. He wanted to build something that would last, a reputation that wasn't marred by his Death Eater upbringing.

So it almost felt like a dream when he applied at the Hôpital de Paris with an application, but after weeks of anxious waiting it felt almost like fate that he was not received. He also applied at the regional wizarding hospitals in Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland and Belgium only to receive no news in reply. He had good grades, excellent potential. But it was a mistake to think that they denied him for any less of a reason than his Death Eater tendencies, especially since he bore the sign of his true loyalty on his left forearm for everyone to see.

But they didn't understand. He had already tried every magical (and Muggle as well, for that matter) treatment to rid himself of the Dark Mark to no avail. it did seem to be fading on its own, but the design was still clearly visible. Anyone that knew anything would know that he was a Death Eater, that he had killed and observed the destruction that Voldemort had caused but did nothing about it. It meant that he was an enemy, that he was a coward. That he couldn't make a decision of his own even after all these years.

Draco wore long-sleeved shirts in a vain attempt to cover it, but it had become a hindrance, a humiliation of his to bear it the first time. He had once seen it as his mother had; if not a privilege than as insurance, and above all necessary in order to survive that far into Voldemort's inner circle.

...

As summer dipped into fall, and the bare trees gave way to winter, Draco and Narcissa remained in Nantes- hiding from the world, from their pasts. It had been almost seven months since the war, and Draco had never felt more isolated. He realized that even now long after the war, he was still running. Running from his past, from the repercussions that it could have on his future. He was afraid that even now he was still a wanted man, still a man people wanted behind bars. Still a person people saw as a villain, as someone who had cheated the law and made it out unscathed, a man who had survived as a coward when others more deserving than he had died anyways.

First came the guilt, then flowed the shame. It fell over him in a deep wave, and for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt remorse. He felt angry and resentful of his father, of the pain he had put him through, of the childhood full of Pureblood supremacy and a string of bad decisions stemming from a single wrong choice all those years ago. He hated his father for putting him through all of it, and for sitting idle while his mother pleaded with Voldemort for his life when he was chosen to kill Dumbledore.

He had once hated the way his hand trembled, the way his words shook when he had faced his old Headmaster in the Astronomy Tower the night he died. He had hated the way his cowardice went above that of his duty. He hated the way that his aunt had prodded him in the back with her wand and directed his decisions from the moment he was born, influencing his choices and quickly eradicating those that didn't match the family worldview. But most of all, he hated the fact that Snape had killed him in the end- Snape, the man who had tried to protect him, to help him, he was the one who did the dirty deed to a friend when Draco couldn't bear the thought of it himself.

...

Draco was in the pantry when Harry Potter Apparated onto the front steps of the villa. He dropped his biscuit in surprise and ran to the door, stunned to see Harry standing there. Draco closed the door behind him, but Harry didn't bother to even look up. In fact, he walked right by him like Draco wasn't even there.

Draco hadn't seen him in two years, hadn't seen much of anyone to be honest in just as long. He had settled himself into the life of a recluse because he thought he deserved it- his own grief and shame hadn't accepted the idea that he deserved friends ever again. He was too shocked to react, however- and remained as he was in flabbergasted silence.

Apparently though, Harry felt otherwise as he walked straight past him and through the door to what he assumed to be Draco's study, sat down in the firm armchair and deposited his wand on the side table behind him. Harry then looked out the window in anticipation of Draco joining him.

It was impossible not to recognize him. His hair might've been neater, but his lightning bolt scar was as bright as ever on his forehead. He had some new scars and a curious bruise on his wrist. But he was still Harry Potter, and his very presence terrified Draco.

Harry was firm in his actions, his motives were sure, his steps resolute and pre-determined. Draco hadn't been anticipating this, the last time he had seen his former enemy was at the hearing, two years ago. He cautiously entered the room, sat down on his mothers chair opposite Harry, wasn't stupid enough to let go of his wand and balanced it instead on his knees. Not as a threat, but as a warning- he couldn't believe how stupid Harry was to disarm himself when Draco had thought about killing him more times than he could count.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry looked up, looking so nonchalant that it irritated Draco. He was wearing robes overtop jeans and a Muggle t-shirt, and was bouncing his knee impatiently, "I'm here as a liaison to the Ministry of Magic,"

"Why?"

"Because the Ministry wants to evaluate the long term outcomes of your father's trial," Harry said patiently. Draco looked to Harry's left hand as he turned his palm, unsurprised to see a ring on his fourth finger. So the papers weren't lying when they said he and Ginny Weasley had eloped last summer.

"We're fine, thank you," Draco said stiffly.

"Are you?"

Draco looked up in surprise, Harry looked more concerned than angry. As he always did when he was nervous, he rubbed his fading Dark Mark with his right hand, but upon realizing his mistake, dropped his hand quickly.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No,"

"Just so you know," Harry said, trying as hard as he could to be delicate, "back in England, St. Mungo's is working on a spell that will get rid of the Dark Mark. Hannah Abbot was helping, last I heard."

"Who?"

"Hufflepuff, she was in our year. She became a Healer right out of Hogwarts,"

"Oh," was all Draco said. But in his mind, a barely harnessed wish came alive in him. He could finally go back- he could become a Healer, help the people he had once hurt. Try his hand at reforming his ways. But it was a stretch, surely Harry was lying just to get his hopes up. It's what Draco would've done- and it was what he deserved. He deserved anything and everything Harry could throw at him, he knew he did. He deserved to be let down when he had spent his life as a puppet of all those around him.

"Just because your father was deported doesn't mean you are," Harry said conversationally. "You can come back, you know. People won't be afraid of you, or angry after what you've done. You were given a trial too, they've given you a clean slate."

Draco scoffed.

"I mean it," Harry said sincerely, "and I heard that the hospital is always looking for volunteers, they need all the help they can get."

"You mean me?"

Harry nodded. "Kingsley showed me your O.W.L's, you're definitely set academically for a job as a Healer, even if you don't feel up to it."

"I don't deserve it," Draco said, "you've seen what I've done- I was, I was a Death Eater! No one will ever hire someone like me. I don't deserve it."

"If you think the world is against you then you'll see what you want to see," Harry said. "No one is putting a harness on your potential but you. I'll put in a good reference to St. Mungo's for you."

"They wouldn't want me there."

"Look," Harry said evenly. "I'm not here to be your pity party. I'm here to offer you a choice- come back to England, give yourself a second chance. You can't hide in France forever you know."

"I'm not hiding-"

"Yes you are," Harry said. "You are and you know it. And that isn't offering you any chance of moving forward either, just so you know. "

Draco looked up in shock, "you've no right-"

"I'm sorry, but I have every right. You have potential, Mal- I mean Draco."

Harry looked over at Draco strangely, as if in deep contemplation. He sighed and settled his expression.

"They didn't want me to come, y'know," Harry said. "They thought I would be holding grudges and wouldn't clearly state the facts as they are to spite you. But the truth is, I wanted to come, because if anyone can tell you that you have a hand in your own future, it's me."

Harry leaned forward, his sure expression startling, "the incarceration of a family member is... damaging, I should know. But Draco, I'm not hear to gloat-,"

"Then why are you here?"

"Because other than stuffy Ministry business, I also came because I want to thank you,"

Draco looked up, stunned. Here to thank him? It was ridiculous! He had done nothing in his twenty years worthy of thanks, especially not from him. Draco would never admit it, but he had wished to be friends with Harry ever since they met for real on the Hogwarts Express in first year, desired to be desired, to be looked up to. To be friends with the Boy Who Lived was a ticket to power, but that was before messy family politics came in. Harry didn't look angry, in fact he appeared thoughtful, looking out the window at the peacocks strutting along the wall lining the garden.

"Uh, for what?"

"Your mother,' Harry said simply, "back in the war, after Voldemort killed me and I came back, she saved my life. She lied to Voldemort, told him that I was dead; asked me where you were instead. She's one of the best reasons that I made it out of that day alive,"

Draco didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. He was so concerned with making it out of that day alive that when the Dark Lord called a ceasefire he was more concerned about getting out alive than finding his mother, and he was ashamed to think that way. He knew his father was with the Death Eaters, but he spent most of the war cowering, hiding from the fight, from the dead and the dying but most importantly from his Hogwarts friends who were falling because of people like him.

He was afraid then, and all at once that fear came rushing back at him. But Harry didn't notice, in fact he was digging through the pockets of his robes while Draco wiped a tear away with his sleeve.

Harry finally pulled a miniature briefcase out of his pocket and Enlarged it. He pulled a bull-clipped portfolio out.

"The Ministry has assigned you a more permanent liaison to represent you at the referral next October," Harry said, handing a set of papers to Draco. "Astoria Greengrass, a member of the department of Magical Law Enforcement,"

"Oh," Draco said, looking at the moving portrait of a pretty looking girl a couple of years younger than him. She smiled briefly and then left the frame.

"I have all of the information here," Harry said, "it's all been arranged."

"Thank you,"

Harry looked up in surprise. "You're welcome."

Just as Harry was getting up to leave, he turned and hesitated in the doorway, and then turned once again to face Draco.

"I know we're not friends, but we're not eleven any longer. Could we try at least being civil to one another?"

Draco looked up in surprise. "Do you mean it?"

"It was hard enough to say the first time, Malfoy." Harry said, holding out his hand.

Draco considered, and then shook it, opened and closed the door behind Harry Potter with the portrait of Astoria peeking out of his breast pocket.

...

After Harry got back from the Malfoy's Villa, the Weasley/Potter's had Sunday supper together at the Burrow. They discussed Draco's new, much humbler personality, and Narcissa's decision to be a bigger part of her son's life, even moving to France to get away from Lucius' influence. Andromeda, bouncing her grandson on her lap, thought hard on Harry's words. She hadn't spoken to her youngest sister since she was twenty-two, and figured that since the post-war world was time for new beginnings, it was high time to change that.

They met for the first time in forty-nine years at a French teahouse in Nantes and discussed over steaming cups of Earl Grey the details their radio silence had missed. Andromeda told her sister about how her husband had died in the war when Narcissa asked what had happened to him- embarrassed and ashamed that she hadn't bothered to inquire further when it was revealed that Ted Tonks went missing all those years ago. Andromeda spoke of her beloved Teddy and his godfather and the fact that Bill and Fleur were expecting a baby this time next year. Narcissa told her sister about her son's aspirations to become a Healer, and his failure thus far to acquire a post.

"Why doesn't he apply at St. Mungo's?" Andromeda asked, watching her sister's guarded expression carefully. Even she knew that France was more than an escape from her husbands Death Eater tendencies. It was more than that, it was a chance at giving her son a fresh start.

"We couldn't possibly move back to England," Narcissa said brusquely, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her teacup slowly, "we've only just settled here,"

Andromeda leaned forward in her seat, looking her sister in the eye,"You can't hide forever,"

"I'm not hiding,"

"Yes you are," Andromeda said. "You've been hiding your whole life, doing everything that other people told you to you since before I can remember. Marrying Lucius Malfoy because Father and Mother told you to, giving him an heir, becoming the wife of a Death Eater. You've been hiding for longer than a year and a half, Cissy, even I know that, and I don't know you at all."

Narcissa looked down suddenly, tears shinning in her eyes. She wiped them delicately with a lace handkerchief.

"I can't go back," she said quietly, "it would be the end of Draco, it would kill him. He's come so far, I can't make him start over again. I can't. I won't."

"You have to face your demons," Andromeda said, "you can't pretend that nothing happened and spend the rest of your life here,"

"I-I can't-,"

Andromeda grabbed her sister's hands in her own, something she had done as an older sister to catch Narcissa's attention. Listen, it said. Listen to me. Narcissa looked shocked that she had touched her, and Andromeda started to notice that her sister's hands were as cold as ice.

"Please, Narcissa. You can live with me and Teddy until you get your footing back home,-"

"I can't, I just can't," Narcissa said, standing suddenly and wringing her hands. "Goodbye Andromeda,"

...

They didn't meet again for a year and a half, Narcissa was fearful of the implications of telling her sister all that she had done in her life for evil. She had very little to be proud of, the chiefest exception being Draco. When she finally answered Andromeda's owl, Narcissa found herself being invited to the Burrow for Teddy Lupin's third birthday party, seemingly unable to refuse.

She and Draco caught a Portkey from their villa in Nantes to Stoatshead Hill and walked side by side to the Burrow. Draco was sweating profusely beside her, terrified of the thought of facing a house full of Weasley's, not to mention Harry and Hermione, who were also going to be there. But what he feared most was the absence of Fred amongst the rest at the party tonight.

They opened the front gate of the Burrow, and stepped over the overturned cauldron's and Wellies that cluttered the front step. A great deal of laughter and talking was heard from behind the door, and Draco fidgeted from behind his mother. After a small hesitation, Narcissa gathered up her courage and knocked quietly.

Molly was the one who opened the door and let them in. Narcissa, upon seeing her sister, rushed to greet her, leaving Draco alone with the Weasley family staring at him.

Draco stood in the doorway awkwardly until he was tugged at the sleeve by Teddy, who invited him to sit on the floor between him and Bill with baby Victoire.

"Gran said I'm supposed make you an' Auntie Cissa feel welcome," Teddy explained matter of factly, dragging Draco behind him, past Percy Weasley and Fleur Delacour, who looked up at the duo in surprise.

Conversation gradually returned and the awkward silence diffused. Draco sat down on the sagging sofa and folded his hands in his lap, answering Teddy's questions absentmindedly. His name was Draco, when Teddy asked. He was twenty-one. He didn't have a favourite colour and no, he didn't have a wife like Harry, thank you very much. He lived in Nantes. That's In France, Ted,Bill had answered for him, bouncing his daughter on his lap. Bill looked over at him when he thought Draco wasn't paying attention, but Draco sat stiff as a board.

He had never felt so awkward in his entire life, or more like an intruder, even more so when the Weasley family looked over at him every couple of minutes, as if stunned why he was still there.

Bill stared down Draco for a minute, the boy he remembered running from the Battle of Hogwarts years before with his mother, the boy who became Death Eater and hurt his family. He was about to speak before they heard Harry and Ron laughing as they Apparated into the room, which did wonders to lift the awkward silence in the room.

Harry grabbed a piece of Treacle Tart from a platter before approaching Draco and Teddy, allowed himself to be hugged and coddled on the way. Draco couldn't imagine having a family like his.

"Nice that you could come, Draco," Harry said, rustling his godson's hair before sitting on the floor beside him.

Draco said nothing. Looking around the room, he saw conversations returning, Percy speaking animately to Bill Weasley's wife, Mrs. Weasley sitting down with a cup of tea with his mother and Andromeda Tonks. He saw quite suddenly that he didn't belong here. He didn't deserve to fit in, to make conversation with the people who had been his enemies for years. He had never felt so undeserving of being accepted, so unworthy of having a friend.

Teddy Lupin grabbed hold of his hands then, and pulled him towards Bill Weasley, who was cradling his newborn in his arms.

"Dis is Tori," he said, and waved at her, grabbing his cousins tiny hands in his.

"Hello, Victoire," Draco said softly, looking at the baby and her father nervously.

"Do you want to hold her?" Bill blurted out, and Harry smiled.

"Um, I-,"

"There's nothing to it," Bill assured him, putting the infant in his arms. "Just support her head with your elbow, like that, and bounce her a little if she gets fussy,"

Draco looked down at the baby in his arms, expecting her to burst into tears at any moment at the awkward way his arms were supporting her, not to mention the stranger that was holding her. But Victoire surprised him by opening her eyes, waking up gently from her nap. Her eyes were the clearest blue, and the downy hair she did have was the same colour as his, a pale blonde. She cooed and reached up her arm to claim his finger with her whole fist and gently closed her eyes once more.

"You're better than me at this baby thing, Malfoy," George Weasley said from behind them, his girlfriend and Ginny beside him. Draco looked up in surprise, her fingers still wrapped around his. "I can never get Tori to fall asleep,"

"That's because you treat her like you do Teddy, you imbecile," Ginny said as she sat down beside her husband. "she's not old enough to be roughhousing, y'know.'

"Hi," Ginny said to Harry. She kissed his cheek and sat down next to her husband.

"Hi yourself," Harry said smiling.

"She's gotten bigger since last I saw her," Angelina cooed, running her hand over Victoire's head. "how old is she now?"

"Eleven months," Bill said, "Her birthday's next week."

Draco rocked the baby gently, missing the looks of apprehension on the people behind him. Ginny and Hermione both looked sceptical, but none could deny Harry's gift for mercy. Draco wasn't forgiven completely, they knew, but it was a start, and everyone deserved a second chance: even if the person in question was a Malfoy.

...

Draco went to the first hearing that Harry told him about once October rolled around. The Ministry of Magic re-evaluated his case and granted him a permanently clean record. So once they packed up and said their goodbyes to their life in Nantes, they moved back into the manor. Temporally of course- neither of them could bear to live there ever again.

Of course, they had their choice in houses, so once it had been prepared to be sold, they moved out for good and left that piece of their lives behind them.

They looked at all sorts of manors and castles and estates. But they didn't need the room, Draco and Narcissa had no desire to live in a house with so many empty rooms. In the end they fell in love with a cottage on the sea near Edinburgh and moved in right away. Filled the rooms full of comfortable furniture and red linens and treated their elves with dignity and respect.

Draco applied to St. Mungo's once they had settled and to his surprise was accepted two days later. He began his new job with the first true smile his mother had seen in years.

He became a healer at twenty-two and worked with Hannah Longbottom in the Spell Damage ward trying to revolutionize the way permanent spell damage was being treated, investing time in Muggle techniques and Magical ones alike to make those who had lost their minds to Lord Voldemort more comfortable. He dedicated his life to erasing the stigma that was attached to his patients, aware that he couldn't heal, could never fully rescue. But he understood more clearly now than ever that it was the little things that mattered the most.

He and Harry also made a partnership of sorts to create a potion to rid those of the Dark Mark. Draco tested it on himself, and after a few years of tinkering with the ingredients, the snake tattoo had faded into nothing.

It never burned again.

...

After the trial had ended, Draco found himself inviting Astoria for tea once a month, inviting her to parties as his date and going out for coffee at Muggle cafes. She was the second person who told him that he owed it to himself to change, and he did just that to please her.

Draco married Astoria on a sunny afternoon in August, and ten months later their only son was born. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy grew up with Al and Rosie and the rest of the Weasley/Potter cousins running and playing around him. He grew up with a paternal grandmother and two maternal grandparents who loved him and two parents who adored him. He learned how to drive a Muggle automobile with Teddy Lupin and was then a groomsmen at his and Vic's wedding. He learned more than once that bad blood was insignificant and magic was magic no matter what background people came from. Scorpius never met Lucius, and Draco made sure that he never would.

He was sorted into Ravenclaw on his eleventh birthday and spent his school years exploring the hallways with James Sirius, and Fred, learned how to hex from Roxanne and somehow managed to pass Herbology thanks to Victoire and Neville.

He asked Rose Weasley out in fourth year and they dated all through their Hogwarts years. He married her once Ron gave his blessing ("He's alright," he had said gruffly, "for a Malfoy bloke that is,") and they spent their lives truly happy, forever after.

...

Once the world was at peace once again, Neville retired from the Auror corps. Harry was far up in the department, and Ron had long since quit to work with George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. His work, though the right thing to do, wasn't what he wanted to spend the rest of his life pursuing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he did; he took real pleasure in doing good for the world, clearing the country of Death Eaters was something that was dear to his heart. But he realized quite suddenly that he wasn't willing to die for it.

A huge sense of relief fell over him once he handed the Head of the Auror Department his letter of resignation, he felt at peace for the first time in three years. And once he did, his mind turned to the only other thing he truly enjoyed- Herbology.

On his last mission as an Auror, (infiltrating a known Death Eater headquarters in Munich and taking some of the last known Death Eater's back to England) he was badly hurt in the scuffle that happened in the recovery of the targets. He was Side-Along Apparated to the German wizarding hospital in critical condition. Since all of the Healers only spoke German, and his team spoke English, communication was limited, but they got the gist of what had happened. A broken left arm, shattered clavicle, sprained knee along with a number of less important maladies. In short, he would be spending the night, and in the morning they would re-assess.

Once Harry found out, he was livid. He and Ron took a Portkey to Frankfurt and Apparated from there to Neville's already cramped hospital room, a sleeve of Tim Tam's and his favourite Herbology book from Grimmauld Place under Harry's jacket.

It was then that the Healers discovered that the Skelegrow was not being nearly as effective as it should be and his collarbone stubbornly remained broken in several pieces. He was transferred to St. Mungo's once he was stable and assigned a new room with new nurses.

In particular, it was the reintroduction of an old friend that soothed him more than anything.

Hannah, once she was briefed on the situation, was the one who mopped his forehead in amusement while the Muggle drugs they used to dull the pain gave him a high like he had never known. It was she who listened to his rants about how he was rubbish at kissing and hated the way beer made his mouth feel funny when he went out with Seamus in Ireland. It was also she, however, who kissed him back when he planted one on her even though he wouldn't remember it the next morning.

They fell in love and got married in their own time, not long after George and Angelina did. Although they could never had children of their own, they loved their godchildren like family, adored their nieces and nephews and babysat the Potter/Lupin cousins when their parents were away.

The found happiness in each other and in their lives. They found joy in the little things, and grew to be the person the other needed more than life itself.

They were happy on their own.

They had found all they needed in one another.

And even though this particular forever is bittersweet- happiness is not measured in anyones time but ones own. They had together all they ever needed.

...

Neville applied at Hogwarts for the Herbology post on a dare. As much as he hated to admit it, ("truly, it was Ron's fault- he was the one who egged Sprout on.") Hannah wouldn't have any of it. Of course she thought it was a brilliant idea and wondered why he didn't think of it earlier.

He hated to admit it, and blushed when it was mentioned later on. He knew that Sprout was waiting to retire until he was ready, but he didn't feel that he was good enough. Those feelings of insecurity had never truly left after all.

"You're a war hero, Neville," Hannah had said after they had already tucked into bed. "You were a leader of Dumbledore's Army! You got Exceeds Expectations on every Herbology test you took. You are good enough, don't undermine yourself by saying otherwise."

"You really think so?" Neville asked, looking up at his wife.

"I know so," she said quietly, and kissed him before he could retort.

...

He had the interview the next day and was accepted immediately. He grew to become one of the most popular Hogwarts professors, known for making any student who was unsure and unconfident feel better about themselves. He kept a stash of Honeyduke's chocolate in his desk drawer and taught anyone who asked how to defeat Bogarts and how to cast a Patronus even though Dementors were a thing of the past. He did all he could to help as others had other had once done onto to him.

He became the Head of Gryffindor when McGonagall retired a couple years later, and was famous alongside the rest of the D.A for their bravery in the war. He had been an Auror, and had scars on his hands and arms from wrestling a Blast ended Skrewt when he was in Spain with Harry and Ron. He was famous, and he grew into his fame as Harry once had. He always remained humble and big hearted and kind, the Herbology teacher who would teach you more about what it meant to be brave than anyone else.

He finally grew into the man he was meant to be- and to the end of his days the sword of Gryffindor sat in its case in his office in case he ever needed a reminder that he was a true Gryffindor- right until the end.

...

For a time, everything was perfect. Harry was well on his way to becoming the head of the Auror department, and Ginny was one of the best Chaser's the Harpies had ever seen. She still worked part-time at the Prophet, but spent the majority of her time either with the team or with Harry.

Harry went to all of her home games and as many away one as his job would allow, cheering her own at the top of his lungs. He framed the first article published about her debut in his office and hung her old broom in a case in their sitting room. He cooked, she cleaned- they worked in the garden side by side. When they were home together, just the two of them at last, they made it work.

Ginny pulled out of Quidditch when she found out she was pregnant with James, covered her tracks by feigning a particularly tricky concussion that could not be aided by magical medicine. She fell into the quiet work of journalism as her pregnancy wore on, and in time, became the senior Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet and retired from Quidditch entirely.

James Sirius Potter was born in 2004- the fourth grandchild. His names served him well, as he was every bit as rambunctious as James and Sirius had been- getting into everything and anything. They bought his first broom when he was a year old and he grew up with his head in the clouds, landing only when his mother told him to.

Albus Severus Potter had a turbulent birth- born prematurely, he came into the world fighting. Harry and Ginny hovered over his bassinet at St. Mungo's for his first weeks, watching him grow and develop and become strong enough to take home. It was a scary time- no one was sure if he was going to be okay. But Ginny knew, and Harry believed her and one day they did, on his original birthdate almost a month later. Swaddled in the baby blanket Molly had made him, he was the image of calm and peace that James never was. He was satisfied with being still, happy when everyone else was. He was the perfect baby- and Ginny and Harry and the two year old James Sirius fawned over the new addition to their family.

They named Neville godfather a couple of weeks later- and he rose to the challenge like they thought he might. He went out of his way to make sure Al knew he was precious and cared for and loved, that he was wanted- and that he was special in the eyes of his godfather.

Harry meanwhile, had been rising in the ranks of the Auror department, and the day he was named Head of the office, Ginny announced her own surprise- her third pregnancy with their only daughter.

They were happy- and even relatively safe. And considering the life they had, it was more than good enough to be happy.

...

And then the years went by, passed the war and into that shaky future, the kingdom past Voldemort and hardships and May 2nd, 1998. The kingdom past the veil where nobody dies. And there was peace. Prosperity. Time for girlfriends and marriage and joke shops and Auror training and orphaned godsons. Christmases and Easters and summer vacations; (Hallowe'en's with a candle laid in the window at Godric's Hollow) years and years of time together. Time and reason to learn how to forget.

And there was always a new date brought to Sunday supper (An Audrey, an Angelina) a few months and then a proposal. Then a couple of years later there were grandkids to hold and cousins to see.

They weren't just survivors anymore. Our war heroes had learned how to live. How to manage. How to love and move on with a gaping hole in their chests, still raw after all these years.

But time past and never once slowed down, and that shaky (even perhaps imaginary) future they imagined at seventeen was slot in nicely into reality.

And looking around, they weren't children anymore, some were married, keep in mind- some even had kids of their own.

And suddenly everything changed- probably when Ginny changed the conversation away from the Harpies and Quidditch to James Sirius' teething. Suddenly she was a mother to her baby- not just a wife or a girlfriend craving privacy in her childhood bedroom.

There was Teddy first, and then Tori, Dom and James. Fred was born next- and grew up to be the spitting image of his father, named after a twin so he would never be forgotten. Roxanne was next, and then Rose, Al, Molly and Lily Luna. Hugo and Louis were born in 2008, and Lucy was the last born the next spring. They were cousins, they were family and best friends. There were thirteen of them, with Teddy and Tori taking up the lead.

{And Molly and Arthur were so, so happy.}

Their kids had given them a family.

And for ten years (a whole decade) everything was {just perfect.}

Kids grew and families expanded; girlfriends and boyfriends became aunts and uncles and all the while grandparents got older. Sun rise, and sun set.

But (somewhere in the background) Harry Potter's godson got closer and closer to the most important birthday of his life. More naïve by the day, it seemed. How could you tell an orphan that he was named after a dead grandfather he had never met?

Then it came, even though no one wanted it to: September 1, 2008.

The year Teddy turned eleven and Harry sat him down, told enough to answer his questions (but not enough to strip him of his innocence) before he left for school. He relived those terrible, terrible years for another war orphan in a different generation. It was time to teach the art of empathy and sacrifice to a new generation of Potter's, Weasley's and Lupin's.

And even though it took time, his godson understood. There was no place for a baby in a war. History had repeated itself again.

And in 2008 the first grandkid went to Hogwarts. Teddy Lupin left, and grew up to be his fathers boy and mothers son, the Metamorphmagus war orphan; the first child of the new generation.

There was a letter from McGonagall the next morning, dotted with tears and signed with love:

("Congratulations, Potter: his parents would be proud. Your godson made Hufflepuff").

It had been eleven years since Tonks and Remus and Fred had died.

It had taken eleven years, but now they knew peace, and it still felt like a dream. Like they would all wake up one day with Death Eaters still on the loose, and Voldemort on a rampage. Back to 1998 with a gaping hole in their hearts.

They still slept with wands under their pillows, wards on the doors and charms on the gate. There is no peace in the aftermath. It simply is what it is. A survivors forever after is whatever he makes it to be.

There is no timeline for healing a broken heart after all.

It could take a lifetime.

Ten years, perhaps. Twenty? Fifty. Then death comes to claim back what they owe.

...

There were good times as the years went by (Molly holding Teddy and Vic's first baby) and bad (Hannah's miscarriage and then a stillborn).

There was laughter embracing the tears and sleepless nights. There were grandchildren and cousins and marriage and a family whole (almost) once more. Family vacations and pregnancies and new kids off to Hogwarts every year. Five grown men and one woman- Weasley's and Potter's, and thirteen kids between them.

More good than bad, you'll understand. Even post-war living needs a positive outlook.

But there's death too, of course. Sadness and suffering despite the wonderful, wonderful years before.

Death was always there, (never left, really) even after all this time.

...

(There's always the first one.)

The accident, the one no one saw coming.

I won't say the name. The face is clear enough, the name fresh and true in your mind. You've seen it. There was a corpse and grave and a whisper about a hero taken too soon. It was grey and rainy, that day. Even the sky looked lost.

One hero, one friend, a husband, a wife- one gone.

(And all the while our heroes waited for their impending destiny- for that long awaited Kings Cross waiting for them at the end of the line.)

Then the regret, the forgive and the forget.

Ten years.

It came like a wave. One, then another, then two at once. It was old age, sickness, accidents. It was normal. It was to be expected. Even wizards die, after all; magic can only delay the inevitable.

(That Stone was good and lost now. The Wand disposed of- the Cloak passed on. Escape wasn't an option like it once was.)

And they were heroes, more so than ever now that they were gone; the brave Gryffindors's, the just Hufflepuff's, clever Ravenclaw's and even a Slytherin here and there. And the world watched as they died one by one, the war's survivors falling from memory and time, landing in newspaper obituaries and history books and then forgotten as the tides turned and the last of that generation died. And then the wars death toll became just another number to remember and names just another list. They weren't people, not sisters, or mothers or sons, they were statistics, a number in a book that nobody reads. Suddenly, even the worst war in living memory didn't mean all that much anymore.

...

Dear Harry Potter,

Even when you're dead and gone, history will remember you as the greatest Gryffindor this world has ever seen. We will never forget you.

And so, just remember that I'll send all my love, admiration and thanks until the bitter end- even after all this time.

Love,

Violet Sky


End file.
